


A Stray Dog Never Forgets an Act of Kindness

by polyphaga



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Burns, M/M, Physical Abuse, Unhealthy Relationships, darksided.....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-10
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5969893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyphaga/pseuds/polyphaga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BIG BOSS IS WATCHING YOU</p><p>Jumps back and forth between MSF and TPP. Kaz's no good horrible very bad (several) day(s).</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Stray Dog Never Forgets an Act of Kindness

How much of that time you spend out on the balconies, letting the ocean winds blow over you, ruminating, is spent wondering why I spared you in the first place? If you were meant to suffer like this? I called you a samurai when you seemed so determined to blow yourself to hell, but it was easy to identify something else. The kind of desperation, the kind of aimlessness that a moment’s soft hand can turn into loyalty, you stank of it. I recognized it, because I had it too, once.  
  
You tried to fight it, of course. Tried to get away, overpower me, outwit me, but it just seemed like an extended flirtation, the kind of theatricalized resistance that signifies, already, total submission. When we half-dragged each other back to camp afterwards, with bruised knuckles, ears ringing, the taste of iron in both of our mouths, you hazily said something like, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you got off on the chase.” You tried to laugh, but your face drained of its confidence, flushes, when you realized that was an admission to being caught. What did you know, really?  
  
  
  
Pulling yourself against the constraints you happily took on seemed to be the most exhilarating feeling for you. Your behavior was so transparent, even to someone like me who tends to avoid those sort of entanglements. Whenever I would rebuff you, or criticize you, you’d spend the rest of the day bothering the few women we had on base or, in a huff, drive the lone Jeep we owned back then to the nearest bar patronized by locals, almost 30 miles away. You were even more shameless about it when you realized it annoyed me. But I have to say it pleased a part of me as well. Even when you weren’t with me, you were fixated on me. I only stepped in when it became a general morale problem for the base, still happy to blow off some steam.  
  
So I wrestled you, pounded my fists into you, held you prone with my forearm barring your neck to the point where I was sure you were about to pass out, and even then, when I said “It’s the women, or it’s us,” I could tell, you still were planning your next move.  
  
“Can’t it be both?” The hard ‘B’ sent a shower of bloody spit from your mouth, and then you tried to take another swing. Writhing, spitting blood, in that split second I wanted you most.  
  
As usual, I had to pull you up and sling your arm over my shoulders afterwards to get you staggering in the direction of the infirmary. You clearly needed a few stitches. Our head medic, the one who’d been around since the earliest days, sighed with resignation when he saw the two of us coming, of course. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.  
  
“Busted lip, gash on his forehead... check him for anything else but the rest should just be bruises.” Anything more than that was none of his business.  
  
The way his face went soft and sad as he looked at you, dizzily trying to keep yourself upright on the stool across from him, I should have been able to predict you’d find a loophole in the dressing-down I’d just given you. What did he say to you after I left you there, still groaning softly in pain?  
  
_“Looks like more than a friendly scuffle?”_  
  
_“You shouldn’t let him treat you like this?”_  
  
  
  
I didn’t even have to sneak around to notice what you were up to, after that. I caught you coming out of the infirmary first thing in the morning a few days later, stretching in the early morning sun, wrinkled uniform, scarf done up tighter than usual, all drooping eyelids and bedhead, the corners of your mouth still slightly wet with drool. You were groaning, arms behind your head in a full stretch when you noticed me. The color left your face in pure fear until your brain caught up and remembered that this was exactly what you wanted.  
  
“Morning, Boss. I was just checking up on an urgent matter before grabbing some coffee.” You said it with a cocky grin that telegraphed, _I want you to know that I’m lying to you._  
  
I didn’t acknowledge it, instead waving you off with a single hand as I waited for the staff to gather for training exercises. By the time you came back, taking your sweet time with a steaming mug of coffee, I had already taken the medic flush against my body, demonstrating CQC on him like a butcher handles a dead animal, flayed open, at their mercy. I had swept his legs, twisted his arms until he was groaning and shaking, and then, by the time you got back, I had him in a chokehold, levering myself back to gradually lift his feet off the ground torturously slow. You almost spilled the hot coffee all over yourself. Almost. You carefully set the mug down in a patch of grass before you jogged the rest of the way over.  
  
“Woah, boss, hang on. He’s medical staff, don’t be so rough with him. He’s gotta do his job.”  
  
“You know everyone gets the same training here.” I kept my grip on him, his feet gently kicking, but he wasn’t the type to fight a superior too much. You looked at me a bit desperately.  
  
“Yeah but... come on, it’s best to demonstrate on someone who can fight back.”  
  
“He can handle himself, Kaz. I’ll get to you in a second.” A good-natured laugh from the men. They had no idea, to them this was just another bickering match over practical base management.  
  
It was only a few more seconds before the medic’s head lolled to the side, and I let him go. He softly crumpled to the ground, unconscious. You had tried to sidle off to your usual position, watching the men from the sidelines, but I grabbed your shoulder, yanking you back towards me.  
  
“Hey, weren’t you eager for a go a few seconds ago?”  
  
I decided to demonstrate arm locks on you, mercilessly twisting your elbow, wrists, even a single finger, each time bringing you to your knees at my feet with a yelp. I figured knocking you out in front of everyone during training might encourage insubordination, but this approach emphasized where you belonged. At first, every demonstration was punctuated by a slight murmur of laughter from the rest of MSF. Seeing their ballbuster XO getting thrown to the ground a few times was cathartic, you knew it too and humored them sometimes. But after a while, when your goofy yelps turned to sharp inhales, then groans, the tone changed. The murmur continued, but it wasn’t laughter anymore. I knew rumors had been flying for a while, they always do, but now... what was this about? Was it some kind of proof?  
  
Enough. I let go of your arm, and you crouched in the dirt, cradling your shoulder. The medic slowly began to stir, coming to, but when you crawled over to check on him he couldn’t look at you.  
  
  
  
I could tell you thought you’d gotten off easy. That night I came to your bed, a rarity, and afterwards you were lying with your thighs across my lap, strumming on your guitar aimlessly as you alternated between letting your head hang back, staring at the ceiling, and turning towards me. Stupid, sentimental smiles. How could you look at me like that after what you did? What I did? I grabbed a case of cigars and a lighter from the bedside table and lit one, taking a long draw.  
  
“Kaz?”  
  
“Yeah Boss?”  
  
“Enough with the guitar.” You stopped mid-strum and reached over to set it down beside the bed.  
  
“What, you’re thinking of some other entertainment?” As you said it, you coyly ran your fingers down the arm I held myself up on while I smoked.  
  
“Kaz, stop acting like nothing happened today.”  
  
That sucked the air out of the room.  
  
“What happened? I mean, it wasn’t unusual...” You were trying to laugh it off, trying to make it the same thing as picking up an anonymous woman in a bar somewhere for a one night stand. “I’ve never seen you get jealous like this.”  
  
“And you enjoy it.” I didn’t phrase it as a question. You had the gall to lay back and grin at me in response.  
  
“What, you want me to lie to you? With how you act most of the time, of course it’s gratifying...”  
  
“I see.” I took another long draw off the cigar, tapping it on the ashtray before reaching my free arm over your thighs. Your breath hitched in excitement, you had that look in your eyes that you got when you would let me do anything to you, but even in that state I didn’t think you were ready for what would come. In a single motion I gripped into your legs, holding them still, and planted the burning end of the cigar on the softest, most vulnerable part of your inner thigh, grinding it out. You screamed. Your entire body tried to jolt away by reflex. Despite everything, you still couldn’t totally destroy your self-preservation instinct. I didn’t pull away until your legs relaxed, giving in to the situation. It left a bright red pit, a broken blister with flakes of ash around the edges, oozing small rivulets of shiny blood and pus. I placed the end of the cigar on the lip of the ashtray. I’d finish it later.  
  
“God... what that fuck is wrong with you?” You groaned after a long silence, turning your head to the side. You never told me to get the fuck out of your room, though. Not that night, at least. The dim light from outside caught on wet lines running from the creases of your eyes across and into the curves of your ears. I didn’t think of them as tears.  
  
  
  
Now he’s knelt between your legs, not the first time, I imagine, but this time it’s different. He’s my shadow now, and you’re convinced, utterly duped. He rubs his hands, one flesh, one metal, along your thighs and you shudder, looking away when his rough thumb passes over the flat, round scar, though it hasn’t hurt for years.  
  
“What’s this?” He asks, noticing the slight irregularity.  
  
“You don’t remember?” An awkward pause as he tries. Of course it’s not there.  
  
“Kaz...”  
  
“You would forget a thing like that, bastard.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would gift this fic to kawaiibooker but she probably wouldn't want it?? I'M SORRY I'LL COME UP WITH A CUTE IDEA SOMEDAY. LMAO.
> 
> THANKS 4 READ....


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